


daybreak

by sctvrns



Series: daybreak [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse, Blood and Gore, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, King!Keith, Knight!Shiro, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period Typical Attitudes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pseudo-Medieval AU, Slow Burn, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-03-12 01:23:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13536678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sctvrns/pseuds/sctvrns
Summary: Keith ascended the throne as the King of Voltair due to circumstances that were less than ideal. When he finds an errant knight, the true state of the nature of his world is unveiled, and it is up to him and his comrades to save it.“In the world, we live in? No. People don’t just help others, Keith,” Pidge pressed her face into her palm, “People always want something in return. There is no such thing as true altruism.”“Surely you don’t believe that.”“I’d like to say I don’t, but I’ve spent part of my life outside the castle Keith. It isn’t pretty. People just aren’t kind like you are. Especially other nobles.”“If I may interject,” Hunk raised his index finger meekly, “Pidge is right. It’s hard not to be skeptical. I saw a merchant give a kid a free loaf of wheat from his shop, then right after he called the townspeople and accused the kid of stealing. They strung ‘em up. Awful. I wish I had the courage to speak up, but it’s a dog eat dog world you know?” He glanced down at the table remorsefully.“Then all we need to do is speak up.”





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is my first fan fiction ever and I am proud for it to be for the Voltron fandom. I’m absolutely enamored with the show, and I’ve had this idea in my mind for quite the while. It takes place in a pseudo-medieval era, and I tried to stay true to the time with a mixture of modern elements. I feel like the dialogue completely in the style of old English would be too jarring and hard for I, someone not well-versed in Medieval English, to replicate, so I tried to make the dialogue more modern. Sorry if this is completely distasteful to you middle age era enthusiasts.  
> This fic is also unbeta’d, so please forgive me for any rudimentary mistakes. Sorry for my ramblings. I hope you will enjoy this fic as much as I did writing it! 
> 
> If you have any questions, etc. Feel free to contact me on my tumblr [ here.](https://sctvrns.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Update (2.3.18): I will be revising this chapter and adding more in order to flow with Chapter II better! Please hold tight.

**I.**

 

Winter’s first breath was ruthless.

The snow danced together in the frigid wind. Piling atop those that had fallen; never to wake again. The sky was wept as she overlooked the battlefield; mountains of bodies splayed together with no care for their status or who they were. To the other side, they were just bodies. Bodies to count, bodies to gain control over, a victory. To the other side, it did not matter if these men had families nor loved ones, they were no more than fodder for their greater good.

A glint of dulled silver was lost in the overcast skies. The hilt of a sword stood proudly as it protruded from his abdomen, glistening with fresh blood. It stood tall, unlike the man it was lodged in to. The fallen knight— Shiro—laid still; his blood coating the snow beneath him, like paint on a fresh canvas, staining the fabric. He didn’t cup his hand around his wound, nor did he desire to. For this was no mere wound inflicted upon him by the other side, he was his greatest enemy and no man could take that away from him.

He had lost all he had lived for. His beloved king was no more.

And it was all his fault.

His silver-clad eyes gave way to the darkness, vision blurring, fading.

Gone.

***

“Pidge, will he make it?”

Pidge, was the castle doctor and village apothecary. Short and lean, with brown unkempt hair, and soft masculine features which often caused her to be mistaken for a young lad. Her light almond eyes peeked out from behind the thick goggles she always wore. She had become widely known for her work with herbs and remedies, as well as her immeasurable intelligence, for which Keith was truly grateful for and enjoyed having her at his side.

“I’ve stopped the bleeding for now, and given him some alcohol to dull the pain. His wound is relatively large, so he’ll be out of commission for quite the while,” She turned to Beezer—her assistant—a lanky lad with small green eyes and sleep-tousled onyx hair, “Can you fetch me a bucket of water from the well? Oh, and a roll of fresh bandages?” Beezer gave a curt nod before exiting the room with haste, “It’s honestly a miracle he’s still alive. His small intestine was severely punctured. I’ve done some stitch work, but it’s a little shoddy. I’ll have the attendants watch over him for the next few weeks to make sure he doesn’t move around too much.”

“I can watch over him instead. I brought him here,” Keith looked at Pidge, his dark lilac eyes piercing hers, “He should be my responsibility.”

She shook her head, “Keith, you did a great job bringing him here safely. Let the servants do their job.” Pidge walked over to her wooden desk. Her back facing Keith as she reached for a bottle of ink and a quill. He hovered over Shiro’s frame for a bit. After mulling over his features once more, his face twisted with concern. The large gash in his abdomen rested beneath Keith’s hovering hand. As much as he wanted to deny it, there was nothing he could do for the man right now, so he walked towards the entrance to the infirmary. Pidge waved him off lazily before continuing to write.

He pushed through the velvet curtains, and hurried back to his quarters in fear that his advisor, Kolivan, would scold him for leaving on his own accord…again. Much to his dismay, Kolivan was standing outside of his door.

“Sire, you’ve returned,” Kolivan bowed.

“Spare me the speech Kolivan,” The ‘please’ was implied.

“As much as I would like to—for both your sake and mine—you need to be aware of your position. You are a king my lord. Your life is worth much more than an injured knight. You need to put your country first and foremost—”

“And I told you, to spare me. You may be my advisor, but that doesn’t mean your words hold more authority than mine.” He shuffled past Kolivan and closed the door before pressing his back against it. He hated how harshly the words dripped from his tongue. He knew that Kolivan wouldn’t take his words to heart, but that didn’t stop the aching his chest felt. And as much as he hated to admit it; Kolivan was right. His life was a beacon of hope for the citizens. His father was assassinated on the castle grounds. Being outside of the walls proved to be even more life-threatening.

But even then, Keith couldn’t find it in him to worry about the worth of his body. There was someone far more in need. It pained him to think of back at the man suffering alone on that snow-covered battlefield. If saving him put himself at risk, then Keith didn’t care.

He heard Kolivan pacing outside the door and listened until his footsteps dissipated into the distance. He kicked off his leather boots, removed his thick furs, unfastened his silk robe, until he sat in only a thin tunic and pants. He opened the curtains on his canopy bed and buried himself in his linens.

The man surfaced back in his mind. He was large and sinewy, covered in an array of scars of varying sizes. The one that stood out the most was the one that connected the bridge of his nose to his cheeks and burned tan into his skin. He was unshaven and had long sterling colored locks that looked as if they were threaded from the finest silk. His right arm was severed at the middle of his bicep, a clean cut —yet, none of that struck Keith. It was the man’s expression. The expression Keith saw when lifted the man’s body onto his horse, his face strained with a feeling Keith knew all too well.

A knock interrupted his thoughts.

“Your Majesty?”

“Not now.” He murmured into his sheets.

“Excuse me for being out of line, but Prince Hunk of Apia is at the gates.” The servant whispered.

Keith’s ears perched up and he ran to open the door, “…You prepared me an outfit,” He said as he glanced down at the piles of cloth delicately folded in a cart next to her.

“Yes, sire,” She averted her eyes.

“It won’t be needed. I’ll wear something less formal.”

“But, he’s an esteemed guest,” She gripped the fabric of her dress slightly causing her knuckles to turn pale. Keith could tell that she was a new servant by the way she addressed him, which was rather rude, to say the least. But he decided to disregard the thought.

His eyes softened, “Hunk is my friend. There is no need for appearances between him and I. Tell him I’ll be down in a few dobashes,” He turned to his wardrobe to pick out a few clothes.

She turned to leave and then added, “Next time sire… please put on more layers before opening the door to your quarters,” And the door closed behind her.

Keith glanced in the mirror; his hand gravitating towards the scar across his right collarbone; exposed by the low collar of his tunic. He ran his hand against the faded, purple lesion. He’d always preferred to change himself despite his servants always insisting to dress him. There was something intimate about them seeing him bare.

And it scared him.

He felt as if they could see all his insecurities and fears through his skin. And then there was his scar, a glaring reminder of what he was. Keith tugged a ruby robe, lined with thin white fur from a hanger, before slipping his hands through the holes, and fastening the rope in a tight loop around his waist.

Yet, it wasn’t his attendants’ fault for being so insistent. It was their job after all, and Keith knew he put them in a tough spot.

He plopped onto the edge of his bed. He grabbed a hair tie from his nightstand, pulling his long raven hair into a low-hanging ponytail, then slipped on his house shoes to walk down the grand staircase to the main hall.

“Keith!” A familiar voice rang out. From the corner of his eye, Keith could see the glares directed at Hunk from his attendants.

“Hunk, it’s great to have you here.” Hunk was a rotund, dark-complexioned prince with deep brown eyes and coffee colored hair punctuated by an orange ribbon. He wore a thick yellow tunic with a green buttoned-up vest. If Keith had to describe Hunk, he’d say he’s the sunlight that filters through leaves. A light so radiant, it’s unable to be obstructed. Just his presence was able to put Keith at ease and he lit up anywhere he traveled.

“The pleasure is mine, your highness,” Hunk bellowed whilst bowing.

“There’s no need for formalities. You know that.”

Hunk scooted closer to Keith, “Yes, but I also don’t want to be murdered by your servants. That lad over there is practically staring daggers into me.”

Keith snickered, “I think you have more important things to fear.”

“Right, like when I ask the chefs to cook in the kitchen. Last time, the head chef fainted and I had to catch him. Speaking of kitchens, I brought some fish and some other ingredients to prepare. If you wouldn’t mind me making dinner tonight.”

“I wouldn’t mind. Everything you make is delicious.”

“Well, I do pride myself in my cooking abilities and my palate.”

“As you should,” Keith smiled, “How is your country fairing?”

“We’re doing well these days. We’ve been building up supplies, saving food and other resources just in case war arises. Other than that we’ve formed some alliances with neighboring countries.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“How about you Keith?”

His mouth twisted slightly, “We are doing…well.”

Hunk glanced at him with disbelief but decided not to prod, “You look better today.”

“Huh?” Then he remembered the last time he had seen Hunk was at his coronation, “Thank you.”

“No problem man. I can’t wait for you to try this new dish though—Keith?”

His eyes were glued to the figure of the man with the silver hair pressed against the doorway of the infirmary. Keith turned to Hunk and gave him a dismissive wave before facing the man once more, “Hey, you need to go lie down.”

“I don’t need to do anything.” He bit back.

“Yes you do,” Keith propped the larger man’s arm around his shoulder and placed him on the bed inside the infirmary. He tried to resist, but no avail, “The more you rest, the quicker you’ll recover.”

“I don’t want to recover,” His eyes closed, “I should have died on the battlefield, alongside my king.”

Keith shivered, “You didn’t—” Keith's mind flickered back to when he saw the man lying on the ground, a defeated look in his gaze, the sword in his abdomen.

“I did. Now leave me be.” Shiro shifted to turn, but groaned out in pain and remained on his back. Keith’s gaze began to cloud. _You have no right to cry_ , he thought. He bit his lip to stop himself, but alas his eyes began to sting with hot tears.

Shiro glanced over at Keith before closing his eyes, “Why do you weep for me?”

“I weep not for you.” He wiped his eyes quickly and sniffled.

“Your tears would be wasted on me,” He strained, “I’m a horrid knight… Unable to even lay myself to rest properly,” His lips quivered, “Just please… please, let me rest in peace.”

Keith shook his head, “I will not let you do away with your life as you please.”

“I did not ask you to save me. Do not think for a tick, that I am indebted to you.”

“You are not beholden to me, but for as long as you are in my castle, you must do as I say. And I say rest,” _Please rest._ “If I see you wandering about before you’re fully healed, I’ll have Pidge experiment on you.”

Shiro stared into Keith’s violet eyes for a beat. He noted the fierce fire that burned behind them. Keith wasn’t going to take no for an answer and Shiro was too debilitated by his wound to put up a fight. He clenched his fist before releasing the tension and closed his eyes once more.

“I’ll see to you later,” Keith resigned.

He sifted his hands through the curtains and glanced at Shiro’s figure before letting them clash together, obscuring Shiro from his sight.

“Your Majesty!”

Keith sighed. He could not have a moment of rest himself.

“Matthew. I thought I told you to stop addressing me as that.”

“But I am but a humble court jester. I have no right to overstep my bounds.”

Keith nudged his ribs with his elbow, “I can cause you more harm than any of the servants if that’s what you are worried about.”

“Oh, how you wound me,” The bells on his hat jingled as he pulled his clasped hands to his chest, “Woe is me!”

“Melodramatic.” Keith laughed.

“‘Tis my job,” He smiled back, “I stopped you because—” Matt glanced behind Keith and eyed him suspiciously, “What were you doing in the infirmary?”

“Oh, nothing. Just doing a routine sweep of the castle.”

“You’re a terrible liar, as always. You look like perturbed. Who’s in there?”

Keith’s lip settled between his teeth, “No one.”

“Hmm…” He strode towards the curtains.

Keith jolted and deftly walked towards him, pressing his hands into Matt’s chest, “Please don’t pry any further,” He ground his lip settled between his teeth harder, “He’s just an injured knight. It is not a matter that should concern you.”

“Hardly!” Keith clasped his hands over Matt’s mouth.

“Be quiet,” He whispered whilst glancing back at the curtains, “I’m trying to make him rest.”

Matt drew away from his touch, his words softer now, “How could this not concern me? I know you’re quite impulsive but have you ever thought that he could be a conniver?”

“He did not come here of his own volition, so I was not tricked by him. I brought him in.”

“Even if you were not tricked by a silver-tongue, have you not seen what happened to the previous king?” Matt’s eyes widened at his own words. They hung in the air, heavy and palpable.

Keith’s hands clenched, “Matthew. I care not what you say about me, but you know how much father meant to me. To us. He raised you. Took both you and Pidge in. Where would you be if not for him? Yet, you insult his same gentle nature that saved you.”

“Keith—”

“It’s _Your Majesty_.”

***

Keith strolled down to the ground floor of the castle where the kitchen and storage rooms were located; hoping to meet Hunk in order to help him take his mind off his conversation with Matt. He arrived to see whom he was looking for but, lo and behold, Hunk bickering with one of the chefs.

“With all due respect good sir, His Highness has allowed me to prepare the food today. I believe I know what I’m doing with the materials I brought.”

“Yes Lirim, I gave him special permission to cook.”

“Keith!” Hunk exclaimed.

“But sir, this is a job for peasants—”

“ _Enough_. My word is absolute,” Keith turned to Hunk, “How much longer do you think it’ll take?” Lirim bowed hesitantly, then walked out of the kitchen.

“One varga, would you like a taste?”

“Mm.” Hunk held up a wooden ladle overflowing with golden broth. The soft flesh of the fish peeked out of the soup amongst the finely chopped vegetables. He pressed it to Keith’s mouth allowing him to drink it all in, his lips curling from the wonderful flavors dancing on his tongue, “It’s delicious.”

“I know.” He chuckled as he placed the ladle back in the large cauldron and continued to stir, “Have you seen Pidge?”

He licked his lips, “Earlier, but not recently.”

“Shame. I wanted to talk to her about some of the herbs we’ve gathered from our new allies.”

“New herbs?”

“Yeah, we allied with the Balmerans a couple of quintants ago. Shay, the emperor, gave my father some herbs as a peace offering. I’ve used some of them in this broth, but I know some of the ones we obtained have medicinal uses. One has incredible healing properties if my mind serves me right.”

“I can give her the medicinal herbs if you would like.”

“That would be great actually. I’ll discuss them all with her later, but I’d like to see what she can come up with.” He let go of the spoon and walked over to his bag that sagged on the counter; its contents spilling out. His right hand reached for various pieces of greenery—all with different stem shapes and intricate patterns etched into the leaves—and gathered them in one large bundle. With his left, he grabbed a thin thread and wrapped it around the stem of the herbs before placing them in Keith’s hands, “You have my thanks.”

“Save that for after I deliver this Hunk.” He smiled.

***

“Keith,” Pidge turned around on her stool, “Give Hunk my thanks. I’ve concocted an ointment for the knight.” She had a small clay bowl in her hand, a wooden pestle in the other. The bowl held a small pool of green liquid; a few flecks of the herbs resting at the bottom of it, “I grounded the herbs you gave me, steeped them in hot water, then let it cool. I’m about to apply it, would you like to watch?”

He shook his head, “I can apply it myself.”

She looked at him slightly befuddled but resigned, “Go over to the bucket next to the bed and soak your hands first.”

Keith kneeled and rolled back the sleeves of his robe before letting his hands submerge into the lukewarm water. He glanced at his reflection, watching the ripples in the water distort his face as he wiggled his fingers. With a light splash, he withdrew his fingers before rubbing them on the cloth next to the bucket. Pidge placed the bowl in his hand, “Use two fingers and lightly press the ointment onto his wound. It’s an abhorrent gash so don’t get all squeamish on me when you volunteered. I’ll get some fresh bandages while you’re at it.”

He chuckled and grabbed a stool, pulling it up to Shiro’s bedside. Shiro's eyes were drawn shut, his muscles relaxed as if he were deep within a dream. Keith looked over the expanse of Shiro’s naked torso, his body bestrewn with scars. The wound in his abdomen was now crusted over with dark plasma and yellow puss. He tried not to gag at the sight, especially since he didn’t want to prove Pidge’s point. He swirled his fingers into the liquid trying to coat them with as much fluid as possible then slathered it onto the wound. Keith didn’t see any signs of discomfort, so he continued to apply the ointment until the area was amply lubricated. He placed the bowl on the ground and washed his hands in the bucket once more. Pidge came back with bandages and took Keith’s previous seat.

“Look at King Keith treating his own subjects. Such a model leader.”

“He’s not my subject.”

“Hm… then tell me why did you save him? I’ve never seen you so adamant about taking someone in.”

Keith carded his fingers through his hair, “I-I don’t know. I was riding Black and she took off. I tried to stop her, but she found him. Amidst all of the bodies on the battlefield, he… _he_ was still breathing. Before I knew it, I loaded him up on her and rode back. I can’t tell you what compelled me to do so, but if there’s even one life out there I can save, I would save it.”

Pidge smiled, “You’re going to be an excellent king Keith—no— you are an excellent king. I’ll make sure to get him back to full health before you know it.”

***

Keith and Hunk sat at the dining table that was over six meters long. Attendants shuffled in and out of the room, placing placemats, plates, and utensils on the table. One servant brought out Hunk’s soup in a large sterling pot and ladled broth into their bowls before laying them down on the plates in front of them. The remaining servants opened the lids of the other platters, allowing the steam to rise and mingle, before withdrawing from the table. Another attendant came to the table to pour a shimmering red wine into their glasses and with a curt bow, went to observe the dinner from afar.

Keith and Hunk engaged in small talk and began to delve a little more into country affairs. Pidge joined in a little later, her short hair tied into a low ponytail. Her body sagged in the chair overrun by work, but she perked up at the soup and slurped it hungrily, straight from the bowl.

“Is it that good Pidge?” Hunk teased.

“Oh put a cork in it. You know it’s delicious. And I’ve had a rough day.”

Keith interjected, “Rough?”

She placed the bowl on the table and slouched back, staring at the wooden ceiling, “Yeah, I’ve been conducting experiments on those herbs you gave me. I haven’t seen anything like ‘em. I also went out into town today to buy more supplies and things are looking pretty grim.”

“Grim? Uh, what do you mean by grim Pidge?” Hunk asked.

“There’s some sort of disease going around. I’m not sure what it is,” She leaned in closer to the table, “But I’m thinking of setting up a clinic outside the castle. I’d hate to be a sitting duck when there are people out there suffering, you know? And I think the herbs you’ve procured, Hunk, are going to be of great help.”

“Pidge—” Keith’s shoulders tensed.

“Ah, don’t get your knickers in a twist. The ointment I made should heal the knight right up within three weeks.”

“That’s not what I meant. I…” Keith grabbed at the tablecloth, “I want to join you. I tire of sitting in the castle all day when there are people suffering beyond these walls.”

“But Keith, you can’t move around as freely as I can. There’s not much you can do.”

“I have to try Pidge. What good am I? I’ve teetered on this line of inaction for far too long.”

She sighed, “You’re unstoppable when you’ve got your sights set on something, but I’m going to have to stop you there.”

“I’m going with you, that’s an order.”

“Up bup but— I didn’t finish. You can join me after you take care of your first responsibility.” She leaned in even closer, “Remember?” Pidge mumbled while giving Hunk a sideways glance.

“Right.” He released the cloth and relaxed his shoulders.

“I feel like I’m intruding on something rather intimate here.” Hunk laughed nervously.

“If we are talking intimate, it’s definitely Keith and that knight.”

“Pidge! We aren’t anything to each other.”

“Yet.” She snickered.

Keith’s ears grew red, “Don’t let her words mislead you Hunk. I’m just helping someone out, is all.”

“Right…” He smirked, his gloved hand positioned over his mouth mischievously.

“Not you too.” Keith groaned, “Can’t people just be altruistic without being accused of something else?”

“In the world, we live in? No. People don’t just help others, Keith,” Pidge pressed her face into her palm, “People always want something in return. There is no such thing as true altruism.”

“Surely you don’t believe that.”

“I’d like to say I don’t, but I’ve spent part of my life outside the castle, Keith. It isn’t pretty. People just aren’t kind like you are. Especially other nobles.”

“If I may interject,” Hunk raised his index finger meekly, “Pidge is right. It’s hard not to be skeptical. I saw a merchant give a kid a free loaf of wheat from his shop, then right after he called the townspeople and accused the kid of stealing. They strung ‘em up. Awful. I wish I had the courage to speak up, but it’s a dog eat dog world you know?” He glanced down at the table remorsefully.

“Then all we need to do is speak up. All the more reason for me to leave,” Keith turned to one of the servants that rested against the wall, observing them as they ate, “Please inform everyone that they may help themselves to our feast tonight. I’m done eating.” He leaned back in his chair with enough momentum to push it outwards, before standing up and placing his folded napkin on the table, “Pidge I’ll be seeing you in three weeks then… And Hunk thank you for the food.”

***

Keith hears groans as he’s to retiring to his sleeping chamber for the night. The sounds arose from the infirmary, growing ever louder as he steps closer. His hands find themselves in the velvet fabric, drawing the curtains open quietly.

Shiro was lying on the bed, his eyelids glued shut, fists clenched. The sheets were drenched in sweat, and the fabric of his clothes and hair were stuck to his skin. Keith walked to the storage closet to grab a pail before going outside to the nearest well. He turned the crank to bring up the rope and attached his bucket to it before slowly lowering it down into the water. Deftly, he cranked it up with ease, and with both hands between his thighs securely around the handle of the bucket, waddled back to the infirmary. The bucket plopped on the ground with a light thud; some water spilling from the sides as the water settled towards the center once more.

He then combed through the closet for a fresh cloth, soaked it into the cool water, wringing it through his hands until he decided it was still moist enough. Keith pressed the wet cloth to Shiro’s skin, earning a soft but relieved hiss. He ran it along the man’s neck, to his collarbones, gently rubbing into every crevice he could. He could see every rise and fall of Shiro’s chest and how his chest halted every time he swiped the cloth against his skin. He brought his other hand up to part Shiro’s hair from his forehead and marveled at the weight between his fingers. He felt a hand creep up his wrist, “Why?” Was all Shiro could muster.

“Selfish reasons, I presume,” He mumbled and ran the cloth against the length of Shiro’s forehead, “You’re burning up.” He placed the cloth back into the bucket and squeezed the excess fluids out before folding it into a roll. His fingers brushed Shiro’s skin as he placed it on Shiro’s forehead, “I need to get Pidge so she can give you some medicine.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m fine.”

“You’re not. You were groaning in your sleep. You were drenched in sweat. Let yourself be taken care of.”

“Are all nobles like this?” He huffed.

“Like what?”

“Nothing.”

They sat in comfortable silence. Keith thrummed his fingers against his thigh before his mouth opened, “Wait here.”

“It’s not like I can move,” Shiro retorted snarkily.

Keith brushed off the comment and walked to Pidge’s cabinet. Glancing over the various vials and their corresponding labels, before landing on a bottle labeled for fevers. On the bottom shelf, was an array of clay cups, which Keith poured some of the liquid into, before twisting the cap back on and placing it back in its respective location.

“I know I told you not to move around, but are you able to sit up a little?”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible right now.”

Keith pulled a stool up close to the edge of the bed, and eased the cup near Shiro’s mouth, “I’ll pour it slowly.”

Shiro was more receptive to Keith’s gestures now, but he still begrudgingly opened his mouth. A slow stream of medicine flowed from the cup and Shiro took in small gulps of the fluid. When it was empty, Keith withdrew his hand and got up to place the cup on Pidge’s desk.

“Thank you.”

Keith’s eyes widened in disbelief before he turned to make eye contact with Shiro, “What?”

“I never thanked you for your kindness,” He said softly.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“You…” He paused, “Remind me of my king.” A somber smile plagued his lips, “He was gentle and selfless.”

“You really loved him.”

“I did. I do.”

“He sounds wonderful.”

“He was.”

Keith settled back on the stool and rested his head on his palms, “Can you tell me more about him?”

And Shiro did.

 


	2. II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Ann. Thank you for sending me that [ask](https://sctvrns.tumblr.com/post/172036802681/hey-its-me-the-girl-who-commented-on-your-king) all those months ago and encouraging me to continue. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

**II.**

 

Shiro wasn’t one to open up, well, at least not anymore. Especially not to a stranger that had willfully invited him to his castle without asking for anything in return. It bewildered him if he were, to be honest. He wasn’t quite fond of the boy’s constant doting on him…at first. He found himself relaxing under Keith’s touch when he tended to him. The familiarity of it all was too overwhelming. People like his previous king were few and far in between, much less were they noblemen or of royal blood.

 

When Shiro traveled as a knight-errant, he saw a myriad of terrible leaders. Kings that sat upon their thrones ignorant to their people’s pleas. Kings that walked around in lavish furs and ate extravagant meals while their people were starving and freezing in the brutal winter. Kings that were afraid of catching ailments from who were afflicted, the afflicted people that humbled themselves to beg at their kings’ knees, a king that would not even give them the luxury of eye contact, yet Keith lowered himself to cleanse his body. 

 

It was kind of poetic really, if Shiro were pious he’d liken Keith to Jesus.

 

His eyes rest on Keith’s hand as it moved up and down his body. He noted the careful way he rinsed every crevice, the way his body relaxed under his touch.  He’d learned to be distrustful after seeing so many spiteful people on his travels and it wasn’t until Alfor softened him back up, that he was able to believe in the good within people. But he didn’t want to get attached again, not after he lost Alfor. It was when he saw Alfor one last time, his walls had flown back up and trapped him within. Nothing good ever lasted.

 

No one good ever did either.

 

So when he told Keith how Alfor adored juniberries, loved to spar, but was terrible at fighting, treasured his daughter, was a kind and noble king, he shocked himself. It was as if Keith had chipped away one brick in his facade. 

 

“What’s your name if I may ask?” Keith asked suddenly.

 

He looked at Keith wistfully, “Shirogane Takashi. But here, surnames are last aren’t they?” Keith nods, “I would be Takashi Shirogane then, but only Alfor… Alfor called me Takashi.”

 

“Shirogane…” He tests. He shakes his head before he whispers, “Shiro,” He looks at him, almost reluctant, “May I call you that?”

 

He raises his eyebrows slightly befuddled before he recovers, “You may,” He says, “And what about you?”

 

“Keith,” He says after a beat, “Kogane. Keith Kogane. You don’t have to refer to me by my royal title.”

 

Shiro laughs, “I would feel better if I referred to you as Your Majesty while I’m in your castle. I’ve overheard how the servants react to not respecting rank.”

 

“Right,” And a smile cracks onto his face as well.

 

Keith sits by his bedside, listening to him murmur on about his adventures at Alfor’s side until he drifts off. Shiro stays still as to not disturb the sleeping man next to him and stares at the ceiling until his own vision starts to fade. 

 

And for the first time in a while, he could sleep that night.

 

***

  
  
  


Keith awoke with a jolt. His head rested next to Shiro’s right thigh and saliva crusted over in the spot where he slept. His dream was still fresh. The sounds of helpless gasps filling his ears and bruises strewn across a tan, limp neck. He could still feel the weight of a crown, heavier than the weight of the world on Atlas’ shoulders, pressing down into his skull. He stayed still trying to reign his breathing in. Slow inhales and heavy, shaky exhales. He glances over at Shiro, his eyes scrunched up and his mouth lax. It was the most peaceful Keith had seen him in the few days he’d known him. 

 

Keith raised his hand and wiped at the sweat on his forehead. He loathed that dream. It reoccurred every once and a while, but it never ceased to make Keith sick. He kneeled down to the bucket he filled with water last night, and splashed his face vigorously, trying to rid himself of any remnants of it. He sighs and rests on his palms for a bit, listening to the soft sounds of Shiro’s breathing to center himself once more.

 

It seems like it is a little before midday and Shiro had slept in his bandages all night, so he decides to go and replace them. He goes to Pidge’s desk where she left a bowl of the salve, takes it in one hand, then opens the cabinet for excess bandages. Pidge taught him how to remove old bandages safely and how to apply them for when she was away. He rinses his hands off in the bucket and gently takes off the old bandages. The wound is less swollen now, the gash visibly shrinking from around the makeshift stitches that Pidge made. He rubs the liquid over the area and is too engrossed to realize that Shiro has been staring at him for a while.

 

“...Good morrow,” He says with a yawn, his voice laden with sleep.

 

“Good morrow, I’m sorry for disturbing your slumber.”

 

“I was just about to wake. Do not fret.”

 

“I am not fretting.”

 

“You are pouting though.”

 

Keith smooths over a bandage on the wound, “Well, excuse me for worrying that I bothered you.”

 

“Worry not,” He says more firmly now, “And thank you for replacing my bandages.”

 

Keith’s pout deepens with a tinge of red on his cheeks, “It’s no big deal.”

  
  


***

  
  


Keith finds out later that Hunk left early that morning to help Pidge set up her clinic. She left a note with one of the servants that if he needed her, send a messenger. She was located about twenty minutes from the castle by horseback on the outskirts of the country. The area was overpopulated and in dire need of a doctor. The note also entailed that she saved Keith a few rolls of bandages, some fever medicine, and the ointment she made. The rest of her supplies went with her as well as her horse whom she endearingly named Fern.

 

It is near the evening hours when he’s walking about, that he sees a slightly unnerved Antok. 

  
  
  
  


“Your Majesty, please meet Advisor Kolivan in his office.”

 

Keith nodded slightly before walking up the main staircase and crossing the corridor with haste. Kolivan’s door was slightly ajar when he arrived. He still knocked lightly before he heard a groggy, ‘come in’.

 

Kolivan sat at a large desk carved from ebony. Atop his desk, was a bottle of ink with a peacock feather quill, which he kept lifting and dipping to write the document he was working on. When he glanced up and saw Keith he stood and bowed, “Your Majesty.”

 

“Kolivan. You called?”

 

“Ah, yes. Have a seat.” He motioned at the velvet chair adjacent from his desk.

 

“That won’t be necessary.”

 

Kolivan gave him an exasperated sigh before sitting in his own chair, “I’ve just received a scroll. Messy handwriting, not from one of our usual messengers.”

 

“And?” Keith waved.

 

“Patience sire,” He warned, “There are murmurs, if you will, about a possible Galra attack.”

 

“Galra?” He swore he could feel the scar on his shoulder begin to pulse.

 

“Yes, I’m afraid. The same people who overtook Altea, one of our allies a few weeks  ago.”

 

“Altea…” Shiro. My people. “Kolivan, are we going to war?”

 

“If you say the word sire. As much as I would like to avoid an all-out conflict, I believe we do not have a choice if this letter rings true. I’ve already issued for the Blade of Marmora to begin preparing supplies.”

 

“A war…” He pauses, “How much time do we have Kolivan?”

 

“Days? Weeks? I know not sire. The castle will be on lockdown for the time being. No one in, no one out.”

 

“What about Pidge?”

 

“Your life is worth more sire.”

 

“That’s cold even for you,” The venom in his tone searing his tongue.

 

“Sometimes we must be.”

  
  


***

 

The days flew by painstakingly slowly. Keith spent his days tending to Shiro’s wound, nights on the roof of the castle, much to the chagrin of his attendants. His other activities were less memorable: talking with Kolivan about mobilizing the army, meeting with the High Council, and doing small sweeps around the castle. Albeit, he wasn’t allowed much further than his corridor nor the dining room without supervision. Shiro was up and on his feet in two weeks, much faster than Keith and Pidge had originally anticipated.

 

“Shiro.”

 

“Your Highness.” He said as he turned away from the mirror of the infirmary, all too small to fit his figure comfortably within its gaze.

 

“I’m sorry that you are unable to leave due to the lockdown.”

 

“It’s fine. I don’t know where I would wander off to now anyway,” He scratched the hair at the base of his neck awkwardly, “It’s funny how I’ve wandered for years… I feel like I’ve forgotten that now.”

 

“You may stay here if you like,” He laughed stiffly, “It’s not like you have a choice either way.”

 

“I’m sorry for imposing.”

 

“You are not.”

 

“I’m sorry for the way I treated you as well. I’m not normally like that I don—”

 

“Stop apologizing.” Keith sighed, “You are fine.”

 

“Thank you.” Shiro stumbled over to the bed, “Your Majesty, uh, is it okay if I borrow a shaving blade?”

 

Keith eyed him suspiciously, “What for?”

 

“Look,” Shiro tensed, “I’m not going to use it for anything other than trimming my hair.”

 

Keith walked over to the supply closet and grabbed an unused blade. Then, he gathered a cloth and a small trash bin. The hand with the blade wavered over Shiro’s open palm before he brought it to his chest, “I’ll do it.”

 

“Are you that untrusting of me?”

 

“No. I am confident in my cutting skills. Would you rather do it yourself?”

 

Shiro paused and recalled the last time he tried to trim his hair. He sighed, “Fine.”

 

Keith gave a small smile and grabbed a stool. Shiro settled in front of Keith, letting his back rest against the edge of the stool. Keith took a tuft of Shiro’s hair and placed it in Shiro’s hand, “Hold.” He said softly. Shiro complied and held the bunch tightly. Keith ran the blade through the cloth, then proceeded to rub small patches of hair until they fell in clumps into the trash bin. He ran his hand through Shiro’s hair, slightly regretting cutting the silver strands. He sliced until he was satisfied. When he finished, Shiro had an undercut; his thicker patch of hair stopped at his crown. Keith took the cloth and wiped the excess hair off of Shiro and allowed him to look at his reflection.

 

Shiro stood in front of the mirror in awe, “You are quite good with the blade.” He said admiring the smoothness of the stubble on the nape of his neck.

 

“I know,” He grinned, “Are you going to shave your chin as well?”

 

He rubbed his chin in faux contemplation, “I think I’ll keep it.”

 

“Would you like to take a bath?”

 

Shiro gave him a playful smile, “Are you saying I stink, Your Highness?”

 

“No. I’m just trying to be hospitable.”

 

“You really lack a sense of humor.”

 

“I do not.” Keith pouted.

 

“Right…”

 

“So, do you want that bath or not?” Keith remarked dryly.

 

Shiro gulped, “I’ll take it.”

 

***

 

Keith stood outside the entrance of the rose garden that encompassed the field behind the castle as he watched his attendants set up a bath for Shiro. Keith had a beautiful view of the garden from his quarters. Sometimes he woke up early to watch the sunrise and watched the light spill over the roses. He recalls when he was a child and he rode Black through the rose garden and into the forest. It was nice to be free from the castle walls, no more fittings, dining etiquette lessons, princely duties. No more getting reprimanded for sharing his food with the attendants or bowing when he was bowed to. 

 

When he rode on Black, he was free of all of that.

 

Sadly, those trips stopped when he was kidnapped by a villager that had snuck past the castle barrier and Kolivan had found him. That was the first time the castle had been on lockdown and certainly not the last. He had been chastised on end for wandering off, given a pat on the wrist, and not allowed to go on rides without an attendant. He still snuck out at night, but what Kolivan didn’t know didn’t hurt him. But surely that wasn’t possible now. Kolivan had become more prudent with each lockdown. This time Keith wasn’t sure if he would be able to even sneak past the garden entrance. The castle was swarming with the Blades.

 

Keith’s attendants placed firewood on the patch of dirt in front of Shiro, then heaved a large cauldron on top of the wood. More attendants flocked to the cauldron with buckets full of water sloshing between their legs to fill it. When the cauldron was full, another attendant struck a firesteel against a flint and fire slowly roared to life beneath the cauldron to warm the water inside. After a few moments, when steam rose from the water, Shiro’s eyes flitted around until he deemed it was safe to strip himself bare, which was when Keith’s intense gaze lifted off of him and settled on one of the guards patrolling nearby. He sagged into the hot water and rested his head against the rim of the cauldron; letting its warmth overtake him.

 

He looked up at the clear blue sky, littered with an infinite amount of stars. It was times like this when he remembered the cold nights he spent before he was taken in by Alfor. The stars being his only guiding light, a reminder of how small and insignificant he was. “The stars look wondrous as always,” He murmured to himself.

 

“Yeah, they do.”

 

Shiro pressed his head further down the side of the cauldron to get a view of Keith who was standing a few meters away. The large castle in the background making his lithe figure seem even smaller. He was staring longingly at the sky, his gaze filled with something Shiro couldn’t decode. After his eyes had their fill, he sunk into the water, suddenly feeling more conscious of his bare body. It was nothing the king had not seen before, it was just different. And Shiro wasn’t quite sure if it was the good kind.

 

“I didn’t even hear you approach.”

 

“I do pride myself in stealth.” 

 

“Hmm,” Shiro huffed, “What don’t you pride yourself in?”

 

Keith stayed silent. His purple gaze burrowing into his desolate grays through the silence. Shiro was the first to break eye contact;  opting to settle deeper into the water, his nose almost kissing the surface, “What brings you out here anyway?”

 

“Keeping watch.” Keith stepped closer to the pot and turned his back to Shiro, hyper-focused on taking in their surroundings.

 

“There are lots of guards watching the perimeter,” Shiro whispered.

 

“Yeah. And they are wary of you.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

“Well, considering that I brought you from outside the castle and an incident happened within the castle after we opened the gates, I can see why they would be a little unnerved.”

 

Snarky. “What about you? Are you afraid of me?”

 

“No.”

 

“And what makes you so sure?”

 

“You could have killed me anytime, but you didn’t,” A mischievous glint clouded his eyes, “nor would I have let you anyway.” 

 

Shiro threw his head back, “You really are something,” He pressed his left hand into his hair, “You are right. I feel indebted to you.”

 

“Weren’t you the one that said you weren’t indebted to me?” 

 

“That was a fortnight ago. I wasn’t quite myself.” I’m still not. He shook his head at the thought.

 

“No matter,” Keith folded his arms, “I’ll set you free soon enough.”

 

“What if I don’t want to leave?”

 

“Everyone leaves.”

 

Shiro felt his jaw tighten.

 

Keith’s throat felt dry, suddenly feeling guilt claw up within him, “I’m sorry.”

 

“No need.”

 

“Shiro,” He said this time facing the man.

 

“It’s a fact of life.”

 

“Do you…” His gaze wavered, “Do you feel like leaving now?”

 

Shiro paused before looking at the moonlight reflecting on the bathwater, “I would be lying if I said I didn’t,” His eyes met Keith’s again, “But that urge is much smaller now.”

 

“I see.”

 

I’ll be out of your hair soon enough, he thinks.

 

Keith turns his back to Shiro once more allowing the older man to finish his bath. Two of Keith’s attendants appear as Shiro steps out of the cauldron. One, Keith remembers as Zara hands Shiro a towel. The other servant, Ain,  holds out a pile of folded clothes and stays as Shiro puts on each garment until their hands are empty. With curt bows towards Shiro and Keith, they leave and head back to the servant quarters.

 

Shiro parts with Keith at the main hall and heads to the guest room that was hastily put together after Hunk’s departure. Keith drifts off to his chamber and ignores the hushed whispers throughout the halls.

 

***

 

Unable to rest that night, Keith rose from his bed. He rolled over to light his oil lamp and drew the curtains closed. He shed his nightgown and picked a slim fitting tunic and pants to put on. After shimming into his bottoms, he stuffs his feet into a pair of leather shoes and sneaks out of his chambers. The halls are dimly lit by moonlight spilling through the large cathedral-like windows that spanned the length of the hall down the left side. There were a few guards pacing around, but none of them had noticed Keith yet, so he snuck into one of the servant tunnels that led down to the training room on the ground floor. 

 

He poked his head in before closing the door behind him. He walked over to a rack and picked out a kukri knife. He thrusts forward testing the weight of the blade before pivoting on his left foot. After a few more thrusts and building up a moderate sweat, there was a knock at the door. He stilled. Kolivan was in the doorway, his expression haggard in a way Keith hadn’t seen since his father passed away.

 

“Sire, what have I told you about practicing swordsmanship?”

 

“Kolivan, I know you would like me to stay away from weapons, but we are in a time of war. I don’t have a knight, so I need to fend for myself.”

 

“Taking up the sword means acknowledging the risks, and I’d rather not have you engage in something that may harm you.”

 

“Well, the other side doesn’t care. They’ll kill innocents, women, children, my father,” He clutches the blade hilt tighter, “You’ve raised me in part too Kolivan and I know you want what is best for me, but there will be times when I’m in peril and you won’t be there to save me.”

 

Kolivan sighs, his shoulders sagging in defeat, “You are right, but it does not make this easier,” He rests his hand on Keith’s shoulder, “Seeing your child take up arms is never an easy thing to do. If I could, I would never have you do so.”

 

Keith looks up so that his eyes could reach Kolivan’s, a fire burning behind those amethyst orbs, “I don’t think I could stay away.”

 

Kolivan stands back with a somber smile, “You have always been akin to a wildfire, passionate, unpredictable, and untamable. Perhaps it was foolish of me to think I could change your mind.”

 

“Perhaps,” he repeats cheekily, “But this is my choice, and I will ensure my survival as the last heir.”

 

“Pardon my insolence,” Keith’s eyes widen and the sound of metal clattering resonates through his ears before he feels Kolivan envelop his small frame in his. He can feel Kolivan’s heat, his love pulsing through his touch. Something Keith hadn’t felt in such a long time. Tears threaten to well up in his eyes, but he clamps his eyes shut and grips Kolivan’s garb.

 

He buries his head further into Kolivan’s chest, “I’ll be safe, I promise.”

 

Kolivan gives him a little squeeze before releasing him, “I pray that you will.”

 

Another knock permeates the room before the door opens, “Oh, I’m sorry. One of the servants said I could train here. If I am intruding, I can leave.”

 

“I was just leaving,” Kolivan says before turning to Keith, “It is up to His Majesty to allow you to stay.”

 

“You may. I was just thinking about how I needed a sparring partner.”

 

Kolivan moved past Shiro to leave the room. He paused before leaving Keith’s sight murmuring something to Shiro.

 

“One scratch on him and I’ll have your head,” he warned, “But do not go easy on him either, he will know.”

 

Shiro gulps as he steps into the room. Keith eyes him as he walks over to the rack. He picks up a few swords until he decides on a broad one-handed sword. 

 

Keith hums thoughtfully before lowering his stance, “And what are you doing up so late?”

 

“Couldn’t sleep. And you sire?” 

 

Keith lunges forward catching Shiro off guard, but he meets his sword right as it strikes down with a mighty clang, “I could not either.”

 

Shiro slides his sword from underneath Keith’s and side steps causing him to stumble over, “No more cheap tactics.”

 

“Who said I was being cheap? Can I not converse with you while we fight?” Keith smirks while he faces Shiro again.

 

“I didn’t say you couldn’t, but a little warning next time?” 

 

“Here’s your warning,” He says snarkily before lounging again.

 

Shiro sees it coming this time and he moves out of his area of attack. Keith recovers quickly and slams his sword into Shiro’s. The sound reverberates through the room and shakes through his arm. Shiro smiles, “For someone so tiny, you sure are mighty Your Majesty.”

 

Keith tsks with annoyance and draws back for another blow.

 

“Impatient too,” Shiro meets his thrust and slides his blade once more and spins so that he’s behind Keith in an instant and elbows him in the side.

 

Keith groans and thrusts forward again earning a displeased look from Shiro. He dodges it easily and puts his foot out for Keith to trip over and fall to his side. Shiro hovers over him with his sword poised at his throat.

 

“Do you yield Your Majesty?”

 

“Never.” He grits out.

 

He pushes himself up, grabs his sword, and faces Shiro once more. He notices Shiro still hasn’t struck first and nudges his sword against his to see if it’ll garner a reaction. Shiro keeps his eyes trained on Keith waiting for his next move. He points his foot outwards and fakes a left swing, but Shiro anticipates that and knocks his sword into his before he can recover, “You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to best me.”

 

Keith huffed, “You aren’t even trying.”

 

“I am. You just aren’t being patient. Patience yields focus.”

 

“Patience yields focus.” He muttered.

 

“As strong as you are Your Majesty, your greater strength lies in your deftness and flexibility. Charging in headfirst will lead to your demise.”

 

“Oh yeah?” He raises in challenge.

 

Shiro says nothing and lowers into a defensive stance. Keith initiates first contact once more, but his intensity seems to have dulled. Shiro regards him with an amused look but leaves no openings. Their swords continue to clash together, neither of them leaving room for a counter. 

 

“You learn fast Your Majesty. Are you sure you haven’t been trained in combat?”

 

Keith’s sword clinks against Shiro’s, “Stop trying to distract me.”

 

“I don’t have to try hard to do that,” Shiro replied haughtily and disarmed Keith with a brutal blow.  Keith fell onto his butt with a harsh grunt. Shiro dropped his weapon and reached his hand out to Keith. Keith begrudgingly accepted his hand and hoisted himself up.

 

“Thanks.” He whispered.

 

“You are welcome. Don’t beat yourself up over this Your Majesty. You cannot perfect everything in one go. Especially an art such as this. You were raised for greater things. I bet your guardians wanted better for you, to not live a life with sullied hands.”

 

“Is that what you think of yourself, Shiro? That you weren’t meant for greater?”

 

Shiro looked away from him, “I know not. I am just a knight.”

 

“You are more than that.”

 

“And what do you know?”

 

Keith is at a loss. He doesn’t know Shiro or the entirety of what he has been through before this. He’s just a naive king that hasn’t truly seen what lies beyond the castle walls. But whoever taught Shiro that he’s worthless or ‘just a knight’, makes Keith seethe. He knows that much.

 

He sighed, “I don’t know Shiro. But what I do know, is that you are so much more than that. I-” 

 

Shiro shook his head and gave him a weak smile. He then picked up his sword from the ground. Keith watched as he placed it on the rack and walked towards the door, “Goodnight, Your Majesty.”

 

Keith stays silent.

 

***

  
  


Keith awoke with a start. He was sweating profusely, his lungs heavy. When his eyes fluttered open he could see a glint of flame through the reflection on his window. A huge thick cloud of smoke loomed over the expanse of the room and Keith deftly rolled off of his bed onto the floor. He grabbed the cloth he kept on his nightstand and crawled to the door. He felt the handle, deeming it was cool enough and opened the door. 

 

The castle was engulfed in flames.

 

“Shiro!” Keith yelled. His throat hoarse from smoke inhalation. He crawled down the main staircase as fast as he could to the guest room. He tripped on the last stair jamming his ankle, but he ignored it. The flames were growing fiercer by the second. Keith pulled the door open to see that Shiro was out cold and his eyes lined with tears. Keith took the cloth from his mouth and placed it on top of Shiro’s. He then sat him up and placed his limp body on top of his back. Without a second wasted, Keith sprinted towards the grand entrance, his foot winced every time it made contact with the floor, but he bit back his curses. He rested Shiro on the ground, so he could get access to fresh air. Keith pressed his hands against the large doors, the lion crest illuminated by the crimson flames. 

 

The door wouldn’t budge.

 

It was being barricaded from the other side. Shiro’s breaths were becoming more erratic. He had to get him out of here. He stepped back to get a running start and shoved his shoulder into the door. His shoulder rang out in pain, and his ankle gave out. He kneeled down and clasped his hand over the sprain. His adrenaline was wearing out at such a dire time; soon he would be immobilized by his pain.

 

He glanced down at Shiro, “I’m not going out like this. Not with him.” 

 

“Keith.” 

 

Keith looked over to the corner of the room. Matt stood with his head peering out. 

 

He walked towards Keith, “There’s an exit through the servant tunnel. Quickly now.” Matt said as he lifted Shiro’s right armpit onto his shoulder.

 

“Careful,” Keith warned.

 

They trudged through the servant tunnel with Shiro supported on their shoulders. Keith tried his best to not put too much pressure on his sprained ankle but to no avail.  Matt pressed into a door at the end of a tunnel and the sky came into view. Keith could see the smoke rising, blocking out the vibrant stars.

 

“I’ve prepared your horse at the front of the bridge. Take the knight and Pidge out of town. It is no longer safe for you here.”

 

“Who did this?” His voice shaking.

 

“I know not. But what I do know, is that if you stay here your life is at risk. There are a few safe neighboring countries that you can take refuge in.”

 

They stopped in front of Black. She rose to her hind legs and whined. When she calmed, Matt loaded Shiro onto her back and placed the reins in Keith’s hands. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pouch.

 

“This money should last you until you make it to Apia,” He hesitated before unclasping the belt he had settled on his waist. A long curved purple blade materialized in his hand, “Take this as well.”

 

“Matt—” Keith whined.

 

Blood-curdling screams arose from the castle. A stream of attendants came rushing out of the servant tunnel.

 

“Make haste Your Majesty.” He said.

 

Keith hopped onto Black with a wince and looked back down on Matt. Their eyes searing into each other, “I’ll protect Pidge.”

 

“I trust that you will, Your Majesty.”

 

Keith yanked the reins, “Call me Keith, Matt.”

 

“Goodbye, Your Majesty.”

 

Black galloped off, Matt’s figure growing smaller and smaller, his somber smile growing dimmer and dimmer. The flames coursed behind him, swallowing everything in their wake. Keith looked back at the castle, his castle, the only home he had ever known, the place where his father lived, where Pidge and Matt lived, all of it…gone. Seared into dust.

 

He closed his eyes and drew the reins harder, becoming a shadow under the moonlight. 

 

Keith stopped at where Pidge’s clinic should have been. But all there was were the shredded remains of the tent and shattered bottles. He jumped off of Black and started scraping through the soil, “Pidge! Pidge!”

 

He huffed, soil clogging up his fingernails, he pulled away the fabric looking for signs of life, but to no avail. He slammed his fist into the sediment, “Damn it! Not Pidge, please, I can’t lose anyone again.”

 

The sound of shouts and the promise of fire drove him back onto Black and further into the night.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got around to publishing the second chapter after five months. I'm terribly sorry about that. I already have chapter three and four in the works and the entire plot outlined. Hopefully, I can churn out a lot more chapters soon. Especially with season six on the horizon. Please feel free to leave a comment and/or kudos. I really appreciate all of the support ♥


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